


sea of lovers losing time

by emmaofmisthaven



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Enchanted Forest, F/M, Young Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Young Emma Swan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 19:13:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5345462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaofmisthaven/pseuds/emmaofmisthaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was nine when he learnt he couldn’t say no to her, a lesson that would follow him all his life. But, really, what could he do, when she had her closed fists on her hips and a pout on her lips, demanding of him that he comes wander through the forest with her once he was done with his chores of the day. Becoming her friend was her choice. Falling in love with her was inevitable.</p><p>The balls and diplomatic visits started when she was sixteen.</p><p>Killian enlisted in the Navy only months later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sea of lovers losing time

The thing about being taking in by the royal family to work in their kitchens as a wee lad, is that you learn fairly quickly that the princess is so out of your reach you wouldn’t even dream of being worthy of her. The thing about princess Emma, though, is that she is as stubborn as she is wonderful, and that she refused to take no for an answer when she decided Killian would become her friend.

He was nine when he learnt he couldn’t say no to her, a lesson that would follow him all his life. But, really, what could he do, when she had her closed fists on her hips and a pout on her lips, demanding of him that he comes wander through the forest with her once he was done with his chores of the day. Becoming her friend was her choice. Falling in love with her was inevitable.

The balls and diplomatic visits started when she was sixteen.

Killian enlisted in the Navy only months later.

If you ask him, he will tell you about the loyalty to his Queen, the duty to his queendom. He will tell you about the honour of such status, of the pride he takes in rising in the ranks – only eighteen when he made Lieutenant, and well on his way to become Commander before the age of twenty-five. He does love his job, his men, his ship. He does also enjoy not witnessing the procession of suitors in the castle, each and every one of them ready to sweep the princess off her feet.

(Only to be kindly discarded by Emma, of course.)

She writes to him often, if only to complain about her would-be lovers and how ridiculous they all are, how tired she is of it all. She writes often, the missive long and witty, never failing to bring a smile to his lips even during the dullest of journeys at sea. So Killian can only notice the shift in her tone when she comes to talk about the one they call the Wizard of Oz – Oz, Killian! He comes from another realm!

It is hardly difficult to see, even through ink on paper, how smitten Emma seems to be with the infamous Wizard. So it doesn’t come as a surprise when, months later while on a diplomatic journey to Agrabah, the invitation card is sent to him by a dove, expensive paper and deep green ink. Killian swallows around the knot in his throat at the words, but accepts his fate.

She is to be married, and she wants him there.

Who is he to refuse her anything?

But, also, the thing about growing up with princess Emma as your closest and dearest friend, is that you learn fairly quickly that things never go as they are supposed to be. Adventures await around the corners, and troubles are even easier to stumble upon. Not that Killian expects Emma’s grand wedding to be adventurous or troublesome in any shape or form (though it is to be expected, what with her dwarf uncles invited to the party), so it does startle him when Roland find him in his chambers and tells him that something is happening and he needs to be there.

Both men hurry their way through endless hallways until they reach the throne room. Where every other corner of the castle is full of life and people, everyone taking care of the last preparations or the guests who have started to arrive, the throne room is eerily empty and quiet.

Emma stands next to her parents, her shoulders sagging in relief when her eyes meet Killian across the room. He can only move to stand next to her, propriety be damn – he suspects the queen has known of his feelings for her daughter for quite some time now anyway – when he grabs her hand and squeezes her fingers in a reassuring manner. She smiles back, weakly.

Only then does Killian acknowledge the woman standing in front of them, still conversing with the Queen and Prince. Her clothes are only made of white fabric, from her cloak to her shoes, and she has that air about her that only wielders of magic seem to carry – Killian would know, for Emma is quite the same.

“…was sent to Oz after her mother abandoned her. We tried our best to welcome her within our community, but her anger and jealousy have always run too deep. She wants revenge on the Evil Queen,” the woman explains, voice soft but serious.

The Queen gasps as she comes to conclusions before Killian can even understand the situation he’s been thrown in. “Regina is her sister.”

“She is,” the other woman confirms. “She sent Walsh to marry the princess, because she is hoping she will have access to your army to use against Regina.”

The queen and her husband shares a look, their silent conversation allowing Killian to put back together the last pieces of a much larger puzzle. Emma’s hand trembles against his, repressed anger making her body shiver – she bites on her lip too, proof that she keeps her feelings in check for now. Everything will bubble out of her soon enough, though, and Killian can only understand – her fiancé played and used her, she has all the reasons in the world to be furious.

The doors open suddenly, all heads turning as Queen Guinevere enters the room with a purpose in her steps and sword in her hand. “We found him,” she says. “Lancelot is helping the guards carry him to the dungeons.”

“Thank you,” the queen replies, before she turns to the woman in white once more. “And thank you, Glinda, for warning us. I don’t know what could have happened if you hadn’t.”

“The pleasure was all mine,” Glinda says before she disappears in a cloud of white smoke and silence falls once more on the throne room. David shares a few word with Guinevere before the both of them leave the room too, no doubt to take care of this false Wizard of Oz they now have in a cell.

Killian doesn’t know what to say, sharing a worried glance with Roland as his hold tightens around Emma’s hand. She squeezes back with the same strength and, not for the first time, Killian is impressed by the way she always manages to stand proud and tall even in the face of adversity – she used to be so reckless and wild, when she was younger, but womanhood and wisdom turned her into a force to be reckoned with, a queen in the making who will do wonders for her people.

“What happens now?” she asks, eyes never leaving her mother.

The queen folds her arms on her chest, pout forming on her lips as she ponders her daughter’s question. Outside, the sounds of carriages and horses and guests echoes softly, and Killian can only guess the queen’s reply before the words are actually out of her mouth.

“We can not possibly cancel now, with everyone arrived or arriving. But if word gets out that you are without a husband to marry, there might be a diplomatic incident over the number of young men willing to take the place.”

Killian’s heart drops in his chest as Emma’s eyes widen, her fingers slipping away from his hold so she can put her hands on her hips. The built-up anger is ready to explode now, but Killian doesn’t find it in himself to tell her an argument with her lady mother is not exactly the best way to let off steam.

“You want me to pick a husband now?” she asks through gritted teeth.

“Would you rather see strangers fight each other for your hand?” the Queen shoots back. “It would only end in a bloodbath and you are well aware of it.”

“So what? You’re asking me to just choose one at random and be done with it? After all those years telling me you would never marry me off against my will?”

Even if he’s been away at sea for the better part of the last few years, Killian knows the Queen would never let it happen – she cares too much about her daughter’s happiness for that, and wouldn’t want Emma to be forced into an arranged marriage. Still, the situation is dire, and there is doubt in the Queen’s eyes as she stares at her daughter. Killian presses his lips into a thin lip and ducks his head, unwilling to step in and cross some boundaries. He knows his place, after all, and being the crown princess’s confident never changed the fact that he is but a simple Lieutenant, no name or fortune to make him of importance.

“Emma, darling, you know–”

“I choose Killian.”

“ _What_?” he asks, voice an octave higher with the panic rising in his chest, while her mother says, “what,” in a flat tone, voice dropping two octaves with barely supressed anger. They’re both left staring at Emma, who stands a little taller, her back straight and her head high – the posture of a queen, the posture of someone who knows what she wants. It is as fascinating as it is frightening, at times, and Killian finds it scarier than most when his life seems to be on the line.

“You asked me to choose. I did,” Emma adds flippantly. “If I am to marry someone today, it will be Killian.”

That is perhaps the moment Killian’s brain decides to stop working. Or maybe it is the moment after, when Emma grabs his hand once more and smiles at him – her lips quiver a little, but there is determination in her gaze too. She nods, a silent confirmation as well as a question and, well, Killian has never been one to be able to say no to Emma, so he trips on his words even as he agrees to the unbelievable arrangement.

Which is how, not even an hour later, he finds himself with an army of maid helping him get ready for the ceremony – forcing him into his most formal Navy uniform, the kind he barely ever wears. He lets them do the last fittings, unwilling to move or to complain, lest someone realises something is wrong and decides that the princess lost her mind after all, that the wedding is off.

There is no way her lord father would accept such an arrangement, the idea as dreadful as it is entertaining. If for a moment only, Killian pictures Emma and her father having an argument over the best suitor to marry, both as stubborn as the other in their ideas. He can’t blame the prince for having his daughter’s best interests at heart, even if Killian doesn’t know what to expect of him now – the prince always glared at him when he and Emma were but young friends, he can only imagine what could happen if they, indeed, get married today. Surely Emma will have one or two witty remarks about her father’s protectiveness.

But Killian’s smile soon drops when someone comes for him, and the reality of it all dawns on him as he makes his way to the main hall where the ceremony will take place. Or perhaps it dawns on him when he first sees Emma, dress pooling around her legs like the white of clouds on a summer afternoon, walks toward him as she holds a bouquet of middlemist flowers and smiles around her nervousness.

She glances his way only barely before her gaze lands on Lancelot in front of them – and, oh, the symbolism of her being married by the man who married her parents too. Killian wets his lips before croaking his ‘I do’ and listens as she breathes hers, small but certain. Her lips are dry when he brushes a kiss to her mouth, and she frowns at him – he has always been skilled at reading her thoughts, but they are a mystery to him in that moment, and dread crawls its way back to his skull.

Dread is also the reason why Killian can’t seem to enjoy the day’s festivities and, after opening the ball without being able to meet Emma’s eyes, he finds his way to a corner of the room, leaning against the wall as it will swallow him if he tries hard enough. His eyes never leave Emma, though, as she shares a dance with Lancelot in the middle of the room – she laughs openly at a joke her old master of arms whispers to her ear, her head thrown back in happiness. She is breathtaking, and she is _his wife_ now, and surely this dream of his will end soon, he will wake up in mere minutes.

“I don’t remember reading your name on the invitation.”

Killian turns his head to find Queen Elsa standing next to him, gloved hand wrapped around a cup of champagne. He smiles at her and rolls his eyes, to which she giggles softly – their bond runs deep, from teenage years when they both grew into their unrequited feelings for Emma and felt like no one could understand the heartache of such a situation.

“I am as surprised as you are, Your Highness,” he replies, before his eyes travel to find Emma once more. He can’t really help himself, never could, but now he is allowed to do so, the novelty both thrilling and frightening.

“Do I want to know?”

He thinks of Walsh’s body in a cell, of Emma’s fingers trembling between his. “Probably not,” he replies, and Elsa nods gracefully, not asking for further details. She has never been one to pry, and Emma will most likely share the story with her soon enough anyway.

“For all it’s worth,” she goes on. “I’m glad it is you, and not another.”

And with that she leaves again to join her sister by the other side of the room, leaving Killian speechless and bemused. Nobody comes to talk to him after that, even if he feels the heavy gaze of Emma’s godmother on him all through the evening – Red keeps staring even as she dances with Mulan and talks with the Queen, and Killian would otherwise not mind if it wasn’t for the werewolf thing. He has no doubt she will have a few chosen words for him, and her speech will be more effective that anything the prince could every say.

It is well into the night when Emma comes to him again and, wordlessly, grabs his hand to put him away from the ballroom. Killian follows without a word, as she leads him through the now empty hallways of the castle. He does swallows nervously when they stop in front of the doors of her quarters ( _their_ quarters?) but Emma doesn’t leave him the choice as she opens the doors only to close them behind them, bolting the lock carefully.

Killian doesn’t know what to expect when she turns to face him, but it surely isn’t the fierceness in her eyes as she comes to stand in front of him, both hands on his chest to push him toward the bed until he falls on the mattress. He barely has time to rise on his elbows that she’s already straddling him, fingers gripping his hair to tilt his head back as she stares at him – her eyes just as unreadable as before, which only scares him some more.

“Emma…” he starts, not that she leaves him much room to talk when her lips capture his into a bruising kiss – she kisses like she fights, with the determination of someone who want to prove themselves to the world. Killian sighs into the kiss, tilting his head to the side to deepen it for a few moments, until he remembers himself and breaks away.

She frowns at him, obviously upset – why, he doesn’t know. Her lips are swollen and her pupils blown up, and yet she frowns at him like Killian personally offended her. She tugs on his hair one more, sharp enough to draw a hiss from his lips.

“Don’t you want this?” she asks him, and it sounds like a reproach. “Don’t you want the princess?”

“Emma, what –” His eyes widen as understanding settles in, and he sits up – she’s still straddling him but she moves as he does until she sits on his lap, knees still caging his hips. “Is that really what you think? That I could – _use_ you, like he did? Want you for your title like they all do?”

Emma nibbles on her lip, too proud to look away – there is a flash of hurt in her eyes Killian can’t ignore, though, that speaks of insecurities so deeply rooted inside her he curses himself for never noticing before. He should have known best, even when no longer having the luxury of seeing her every day – he is her closest friend, he should have known best.

“Do you want me at all?” she asks back, indulging in a rare moment of vulnerability.

Killian can only smile as he raises a hand to cup her cheek, tilts her head so he can lean his forehead against hers. Her breath catches in her throat before she closes her eyes, her own hand brushing against his neck as she leans into him.

“I’m sorry I forced you, I – I didn’t know what do to. I thought – I thought you could learn to love me as I do you, as more than a friend. Maybe. Some day.”

The disbelieving snort (he is dreaming, he must be dreaming, there is no other way) escapes his nose before he can swallow it back, Emma’s body stiffening against his at the sound of it. But Killian laughs some more, breathless chuckles as he brushes his lips to Emma’s forehead, her cheeks, her nose, her jaw. She softens into his embrace, heaves a breath she seems to have been repressing for quite some time now.

“I love you,” he replies simply. “I’ve loved you since we were but children, Emma.”

She leans away, lips parted in surprise as she stares at him. Killian reads the wordless questions in her gaze – he has a hundred of his own, after all – but he elects to caressing with his thumb the spot on her cheeks where the double dimples usually are, elects to marvel in her beauty, her perfection. They have a hundred questions, but those can wait.

Or maybe not, for Emma pouts at him and goes on with, “Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you let me go through the headache of finding a husband if –”

“You were uninterested!”

“I was not, _you_ were!”

Her eyes widen almost comically, before she stifles a giggle. Killian fights back again a grin of his own, but then she laughs out loud and hides her face in his neck, and he can only laugh too, carefree and happy. She grabs the fabric of his jacket at his back and presses a kiss to his collarbone, and his laughs turns into a tender smile because – because she loves him, and he loves her, and he is allowed to show his feelings now more than ever.

“Gods, we are such idiots,” he states.

“You are,” she replies as she sits up once more and smiles at him. Red crawls up her neck and down her cheeks as she adds, “You are my idiot.”

She looks sheepish as she says so, but Killian’s heart is too big for his ribcage all of a sudden, at her words and the possessiveness she pours into them – at the fact that he most definitely is hers, now, and nobody can change that. It scares him – he has no idea how to love her so openly – but it is the good kind of fear, sending shivers down his spine and warming his blood.

And so, when she leans to kiss him again, Killian meets her halfway – her lips warm and insistent against his mouth, her tongue darting to lick and taste, her teeth nibbling. She kisses like she fights, like she has something to prove, and Killian doesn’t mind it in the least.

Not when she pushes him back on the mattress with her knees pressed to his hips and the most radiant grin on her lips.


End file.
